My friend Sara and I were talking about the blog this past weekend and I was thinking to myself about what I feel when I write and what I decide to share and why. I have read some of my old posts here and they make me cry. They take me back to the emotions I was feeling at the moment as I think about our life.
The life that was.
The grief book also talks about creating a detailed narrative about the loss during the early stages of grief and about how helpful that can be during the journey.
I want to create that narrative.
Not just for me, but for the children as well.
I think Isis and Maya would want to read the narrative in the future to know about these moments, my pain, their pain, our pain, what happened to their father and how it all happened and why it happened.
We are still waiting on the "why" part.
I think the narrative will also be a poignant reminder of what we overcame and how strong we all are as a family and that you are part of that strength too.
I am not sure how much Isis will remember and of course there are certain things around your death that she is not privy to at the moment.
It will be a private narrative. Just for me and our girls.
The girls can decide if they want to share it in future with others.
I have spoken about the details of the events quite a few times now. During the first few weeks after your death, I would share the whole entire story from our last weekend together up until the time of your death with whoever was willing to listen. Looking back, I needed to do that.
I still do that...but only with certain people, and only when I feel comfortable doing it.
And then there are those days when I don't feel like talking about you or what happened.
I just tell people that my husband is dead and that's all there is to it.
I have also realized that I have a special "short version" of the events for strangers and other random people at the bank, doctor's office, or social services agencies.
I plan on creating this narrative sometime this week.
I think one day...way down in the future, I would want to read it. I would want to revisit the pain. The other reason why I want to do it is because I know how memories get tainted as time goes on. Right now, everything that happened all the way up until the paramedics sat me down to tell me that you were dead, is fresh in my mind like it just happened yesterday.
I also remember the first time I saw your body, your memorial service, the time when I was told that you were cremated, and the day I sat alone in that dimly lit room with your ashes in front of me.
The "urn presentation", as they called it.
I remember the words that I said to you.
Words between us that nobody heard.
I remember those days.
I remember those moments very well.
My narrative will hold these memories.
I know this pain will never entirely go away. This wound will heal and leave a big, thick, scar that will stay with me for the rest of my life. The scar will throb every now and then to remind me of you, Jess.
The wound is still raw now.
I miss you so much every single day.
I think about all the things we used to do together, big and small.
Your voice and your laugh...still echo in this house.
I think about all the things that I cannot do with you anymore...all the places I cannot see with you...all the joys I cannot share with you...all the weirdness in the world we can't talk about...all the cool things we cannot admire together...all the things our children cannot experience with you.
I love you Jess.
I love you so much, my cuddle bear.